I spent the night curled up on a hospital bed beside a protesting Flint. Despite every test the doctors could run all the results returned a positive verdict, Flint was one healthy animal, didn't even have an infection.
The nurses practically had to tie him to the bed and he only relented, when I promised not to leave his side. It was very obvious that Flint held no love for doctors or hospitals. I wasn't exactly sure which he hated more, but I sensed a story there somewhere that I would have to pry out of him someday. Heck, I didn't even know his real name yet.
The next morning Flint was discharged or better put, expelled, from the hospital in Cairo. Two false IDs saw us onto a plane and I was in Vienna before I knew it. Flint took care of everything and I just enjoyed the experience. He took me shopping and completely spoiled me rotten. He spent money faster than even my father could and I could only assume that he had plenty of it; by the way he went through it. It didn't matter really.
I was with him and that was all I cared about. That evening, after my shopping spree, our taxi dropped us off at one of those ultra swanky hotels, where the doormen wear more brass than a five star general. Flint led me commandingly into the lobby and I couldn't but be impressed with the stated opulence of the old world finery about me. Flint didn't even bother to stop at the check in desk to give them a passport or anything.
He must be a regular here, if the way every hired person was differentially nodding and smiling at him was any clue. Just who was Flint? The elevator doors opened up and a man stepped out and instantly smiled, as he saw Flint, "Good to see you James!"
Flint returned the smile and said something that I missed out on, as I was too caught up in the 'James' part. James what?
The possibility had me cringing. After the gilded elevator doors slid shut he turned from the buttons to eye me speculatively.
We were alone on the elevator and I burst out with my question, "James what?"
"James Kilroy."
It was the same name that he had used in Barcelona.
"You can relax now Lisa. I'm not an international secret agent playboy."
James Kilroy. I liked it, it suited him, but in a way he would always be Flint to me.
"That's your real name?" I asked skeptically.
He smiled and held out one hand level and the other hand up, "I so swear."